


Prelude 12/21

by sky_reid



Series: A Heart That Hurts is a Heart That Works [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, F/M, Friendship, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Magic Revealed, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-08
Updated: 2012-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-29 04:13:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/315678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_reid/pseuds/sky_reid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin's imagined a lot of ways to tell Arthur about his magic - this wasn't one of them. He's hoped for many reactions - not for this one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prelude 12/21

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eruannalle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eruannalle/gifts).



> Rated T for mature themes and mentions of minor character death (Uther Pendragon).
> 
> Title from the song by A Fire Inside.
> 
> Important part of the series (shouldn't read the series without it, although you can), but is a story of its own and can be read outside of the series it belongs to.

 

 _Prelude 12/21_

 

The thing is, Merlin's control on his magic is tenuous at best. Magic is more of a reflex to him than a conscious decision most of the time, not necessarily like breathing or blinking, but more like gasping when stepping into a cold river, or closing his eyes when kissing someone – it just happens without being planned or allowed. This is especially true for those times when he has little control of anything else as well, when his heart is pumping adrenaline instead of blood and things he didn't anticipate are happening and he just needs to _do_ _something_.

 

Protecting Arthur is much the same. He doesn't always think it through, doesn't always look up a spell to use, often doesn't even do it consciously. He just sees Arthur is in danger and he has to help, it's like second nature to him. At first he doesn't even notice it happening, how magic slips through his fingers too easily when he's hurt or angry or excited or _scared,_ how he sticks too close to Arthur, how he cares too little about who might see him when Arthur's life is at stake. But then an accidental fire in their camp gets extinguished suddenly, and he doesn't even realize it's him until he sees the burns on Arthur's hands and the wide-eyed look Lancelot gives him. He pretends nothing odd happened and goes to tend to Arthur's wounds, and thankfully, everyone plays along.

 

He's more careful after that, tries to steer clear of situations that might upset him so he wouldn't react on pure instinct again, but the problem with unexpected things is that they are, well, unexpected. Merlin doesn't always assess situations properly and he finds himself mumbling spells to keep things from falling, or to heal an accidental cut or to untangle a knot that's been bugging him for too long before Arthur storms in. It's only small things, though, short and simple charms, to deal with the daily little complications, so it doesn't bother him much.

 

Then they go on another hunt. It takes them surprisingly long, days, to find something to hunt down, though, and everyone is getting restless and peeved, and it makes them cranky and reckless, reckless enough to get too close to the bear they're trailing. Even Merlin knows they're not handling it right, and he wants to say so, but Arthur shushes him with a scowl and Merlin thinks that maybe he's just panicking. The next thing he knows he's felling trees on the bear that narrowly misses Arthur's shoulder when it falls. Lancelot gives him an incredulous look again, and Arthur looks more contemplative than relieved (which is not a good sign), but nobody says anything and they go back with a bear carcass. Merlin concedes that when it comes to Arthur's life, he may be somewhat rash in his decisions. He can't really say he regrets them, though, not when he gets to wake Arthur up the next day, not when he gets to share Arthur's smiles with him some more.

 

He tries to tone down on magic, to always be conscious of what he's doing. He bites his tongue every time he catches himself casting a spell, pinches himself every time he raises a hand to focus his energy. He only uses his talents when he has no other choice, when lives are in danger or when he thinks Arthur might sack him if he doesn't do all of his chores. It works for a while (or so he thinks) if he's to judge by the number of times Lancelot scolds him for being too painfully obvious – it only happens twice in as many months. But that doesn't last long, because magic is a part of Merlin, it's like another arm or a really useful extension, it's natural for him to use it. He tries to do it more surreptitiously, but gives up on trying to do it less.

 

He suspects Gwaine knows, but Gwaine doesn't tell and Merlin doesn't ask. He thinks Gwaine may have had his doubts all along, that they were confirmed one of those times in the forest, but decides that pretending Gwaine doesn't know is less awkward than the alternative – Gwaine gets to stay the silly friend who's not really into serious conversations, and Merlin gets to cling to the comfort of not too many people knowing his secret. He also thinks that maybe Morgana's onto him (and it may have something to do with the fact that he tries less and less to keep it hidden from her, because he knows her nightmares and he knows how vases and mirrors end up broken in all the corners of the room even though Morgana never leaves her bed), but he's not too worried about that – Morgana may be a lot of things, but she's a good and loyal friend, and hardly a hypocrite. He believes Gwen is too nice to doubt him, and knows she is way too loving to give him away, but telling her before telling Arthur feels wrong so he doesn't do it.

 

Arthur is a conundrum, though. Most of the time, he is completely oblivious even when Merlin himself understands he's being way too obvious, but sometimes, in the evenings, when they're alone but for the crackling of fire and the near-palpable exhaustion in the air, Arthur looks at him like he knows something, like he knows _everything_ and it makes Merlin wonder, makes him worry, but also makes him hope. He can't know for sure though, not unless he asks, and he can't ask without telling, so he puzzles over Arthur's conflicted reactions in the privacy of his room. He sometimes wonders if that is how his friends feel when they try to gauge whether he has magic or not.

 

And then Uther gets sick; many suggest magic to be involved, but Merlin takes one look at the weary king and knows it's not. He checks, of course, first chance he gets, but he doesn't feel magic in the room, his own magic doesn't react in turn, and the spell he finds in one of Gaius' old books confirms it. He helps Gaius with the treatment as much as he can, casts a few healing spells when he's alone in the king's room, but nothing works and he thinks that maybe it's just Uther's time to die. He expects relief, hope, even joy, but Arthur's pain takes over and Merlin can feel nothing but sorry. When Uther dies, Merlin considers alleviating Arthur's pain with magic, but eventually concludes that Arthur is not the type of person to cut corners, that if Merlin could offer, Arthur would refuse. He ends up just being there for Arthur at all times, offering a gentle touch when he thinks Arthur needs it, talking when he thinks Arthur doesn't want silence. He weaves a spell for dreamless sleep into his words the night of the coronation, but other than that, he doesn't turn to magic. He hopes what he did was enough.

 

With Arthur as king, Merlin feels a lot safer, because he knows that Arthur is not his father, that he won't have anyone killed for who they are, that he is more just and more caring than that. He starts thinking of ways to tell Arthur, starts planning it and imagines the outcomes varying from rage to encouragement, but none of them include a pyre. It's relaxing to have even that little bit of assurance that things will be better now, that _Camelot_ will be better.

 

Merlin knows Uther wasn't universally hated, that he had supporters, that people agreed with him, but it still comes as a surprise when he learns that most of the court and the nobility resent Arthur's assent to power. Some of them even start the rumour that Arthur had something to do with his father's death, and Merlin is tempted to turn to magic again (he's fairly certain he once came across a curse that makes everyone believe the victim to be mad), but he doesn't get to perfect it before something else preoccupies his attention.

 

There's a traitor amongst Arthur's knights. Merlin doesn't know what makes him think that, but one morning he wakes up with that thought in the forefront of his mind. He doesn't know who it is, how long this has been going on, or how he knows, but he feels that it's urgent. He wants to tell Arthur, but the new king is now hardly ever alone during the day, so Merlin turns to the only person he thinks can help him – Morgana. He knocks on her door after he sees Gwen leave with a hardly touched breakfast tray, suspecting that he knows what's got Morgana upset.

 

“My lady,” he says as he enters. Morgana is sitting in her bed, still dressed in sleep clothes, eyes red from crying and she looks _scared_.

 

“Merlin,” she says, voice shaky and panicked. Merlin closes the door and sits next to her. She grabs one of his hands and squeezes it hard. “Merlin, I... I think Arthur is in danger,” she says, looking at him with wide eyes. He wonders if she wanted to say something else first, because her eyes dart to the window for just a split second. He wonders if she wanted to tell him it was a dream, if she wanted to admit to her magic. He wonders if such secrets always require an imminent disaster to be revealed.

 

“Yes, I know, that's why I'm here,” he replies, squeezing her hand back soothingly. “We have to do something. Do you know who it is?” he asks, very carefully avoiding the obvious question (and its obvious answer) of how they both know this; he thinks that this is not the right time for that conversation. Then again, if he knew the right time, his own magic wouldn't still be a secret to his best friend.

 

“I don't know his name,” she answers, hastily wiping at her face and getting up. “He's one of my dad's old knights, I'll show you,” she adds, grabbing a dress and going behind the screen to put it on. For all that her voice is still unsteady, she looks determined and Merlin recognizes that combination all too well – she will fight for her brother, will use magic she barely understands and controls, she will do whatever it takes to protect Arthur, even if it means risking her own life; he knows because he's felt the same way too many times to count. And he can't let her do that, can't let her take the fall for _his_ destiny.

 

“Morgana, we can do it without magic,” he says, deciding that, if there's really no right moment, then in the sea of the wrong ones, this one is no different from any other. He hears her stop moving and gasp quietly. “Have you told him?” he asks, keeping his tone conversational and calm to assure her that it's fine, he won't tell if she doesn't want him to.

 

“No. But I think he knows,” she replies after a moment's silence. She doesn't ask how Merlin knows, doesn't mention if she knows about him, just carries on getting dressed. “Uther's laws are still Camelot's laws as well,” she tells him as she walks out from behind the screen. “If you could... buy me more time, I'd be grateful.” She looks calmer now, in her royal purple dress, her hair combed, but Merlin doesn't miss how her hands are shaking, how her bottom lip quivers a little. _She knows_ is the only thing he comes up with, she knows about him, she knows what she's asking, and she knows he will do it. Because that's what friends are for.

 

“Arthur is meeting all the knights today at noon. Show me who he is and then leave, I'll make sure Arthur is safe,” he says, not looking at her. He hears her sigh of relief, and when he looks at her again she appears like she's about to apologize, but she's calm, resigned, persistent. She won't take the request back, and Merlin won't make her. He understands the need to wait for, to find or create a perfect moment, to be ready when you say it. This isn't how he imagined it would play out either, but he had more time to make peace with whatever fate might await him upon his confession, and she deserves the same.

 

In spite of what he tells Morgana, he goes through all the protection spells he knows, tries to remember all the ways in which he's used magic to fight before. Just in case, he tells himself, even though he knows magic will probably be his first, not last choice. He's surprised at how little it bothers him, how calm he is, how freeing it is to know that today may be the day when he stops hiding. It should worry him that he's so willing to show what still might get him killed, but it doesn't; his only real concern has long ago become Arthur.

 

Morgana's hand is sweaty when she tugs on his wrist and points to a man walking into Arthur's meeting room. It's a stocky man with impressive facial hair that's just started to go grey, Merlin's seen him around the castle, but they've never spoken. “Arthur will suggest amending the law of knighthood to include commoners. Some of the knights disagree,” Morgana whispers urgently, “and he's one of them. He thinks Arthur's just trying to undermine Uther's authority. He plans to wait until Arthur's too involved in the argument with the rest of the knights to notice him and then...” She leaves the rest of the sentence unsaid, but the way her voice goes higher, how she takes in a sharp breath and closes her eyes tell Merlin what she can't.

 

“Go to your chambers, don't tell anyone but Gaius about your dreams until you know for sure that you're safe,” he advises because that's the only way he knows how to deal with the whole situation, and it's worked for years for him.

 

She looks at him like she wants to thank him, but in the end she just says, “He's my brother,” and it sounds more like an apology.

 

“And my friend,” he replies, because it's true, and because he'd be here even if it weren't for her, and because he'd do anything and take any consequence for Arthur's safety. She smiles a little like she understands, leans into him and kisses his lips briefly, gently; he doesn't know why she's doing it, she's never done it before, but he closes his eyes and kisses back, just as gently. She's not the one he wants, but he's always been fond of her, she's always been a good friend and her lips are soft and inviting; it feels good, calming to be so close to another human being.

 

She murmurs something and it could be _I know_ , or it could be _I'm sorry_ or _Thank you_ , but it doesn't matter because it's too late anyway and they've both already made their decisions. He strokes her cheek with the tips of his fingers and whispers, “You should go.” He thinks she may be crying when she turns and leaves. He's not sure, later, if it was because of Arthur or because of him or because she knew what would happen next.

 

Merlin sneaks into the room with the last knight to arrive (he figured it would be Gwaine) and stands by the door. Arthur is already talking and he doesn't even notice Merlin is there, waving at Gwaine to stand at the end of the table without even looking up from the map of Albion laid out on the smooth wood in front of him. Gwaine grins at Merlin before moving to stand in his place, but Merlin doesn't quite manage a smile back. He can't see Arthur from where he's standing by the door, so he moves closer, standing by the wall behind Arthur's back. The traitor is right next to Arthur, a hand on his sword, but Merlin doesn't point it out because knights are trained to always be ready to fight, he swears that most of them hold their swords even in their sleep.

 

Arthur's suggestion comes not long into the meeting and it does start a heated discussion with most of the young knights defending Arthur's choice (Gwaine, Elyan and Lancelot the loudest among them) while the old ones invoke tradition and customs. Arthur just stands there, looking tired and pale and rubs a hand over his face a few times, his expression pained and conflicted. Merlin doesn't listen to the discussion (even though Gwaine's verbose defence of Lancelot's honour tickles his imagination), focusing instead on the knight behind Arthur who is now clutching at his sword, dislodging it from its sheath. Merlin takes a few steps forward and calls for Arthur, but the traitor reacts faster, pulling his sword out. He's flung across the room and impaled on the ornamental spear hanging from the wall as a decoration before Merlin even realizes his hand is raised, his eyes gold and his magic is coursing through his veins.

 

*

 

Merlin doesn't remember much from the minutes that followed (was it minutes? Or hours? He's not sure anymore). He remember stammering _He was going to kill you_ to Arthur, he remembers everybody staring at him, he remembers the shocked whispering, he remembers Gwaine's _fuck_ and Lancelot's _What did you do, Merlin?_ , but he most distinctly remembers Arthur eyes – wide, hurt, afraid, and so so blue.

 

*

 

As the guards tie his wrists with rope on the spot and drag him away, Arthur says, “I'm sorry, Merlin. It's the law.” It's of little help, because he is still being dragged to the dungeons, but it's a consolation, and it lets him know that duty is the only reason Arthur's doing this.

 

Arthur follows him to the dungeons, walking right behind him and the guards; Merlin can hear his footsteps and a few times he feels a hand on his shoulder that is far too gentle to belong to either of the guards. They push him into a cell and the guards move to shackle him, but Arthur sends them away; when they protest he threatens to shackle them instead.

 

Merlin sits on the damp stone floor of the dungeon and watches the scene unfold without really seeing it. He killed a man. He killed a man he barely knew, a man who maybe has a family, a wife and children to support. He killed a man without thinking, probably without blinking. He killed a man without noticing. And he's in a dungeon, his hands literally tied, rope digging into his wrists. And Arthur is standing in front of him, tall and strong as ever, but Merlin can tell he's hurt, he's scared, he's torn. But Merlin... Merlin's never felt more _free_. It scares him that all he can think about is that now everyone knows and there will be no more hiding and no more lying and no more running. He killed a man. He's imprisoned. He hurt the one person he cares about most. But he can't think about that, not when he is finally _free_.

 

“Merlin,” Arthur starts, but Merlin just looks away. He can't stand to see what he's done to Arthur, can't bear the knowledge that he caused this pain, that he's the reason why Arthur's eyes are so glassy and shiny with tears.

 

“This is not how I wanted you to find out,” Merlin whispers, because Arthur's voice, hoarse and quiet, snaps him back to reality which comes crashing down onto him. He killed a knight. He hurt Arthur. He did it because he was foolish and reckless and he lost control over himself. And that is not how he planned for Arthur to learn about his magic.

 

“Merlin, do you honestly think I am that much of an idiot?” Arthur asks, clearly annoyed, his voice too loud in the small stone room. There's the unmistakable sound of Arthur's fist hitting the wall and Merlin wonders who will clean the wound now, who will wrap Arthur's knuckles in soft white bandages, if they will stroke Arthur's fingers for no reason while they do it, the way Merlin always did. “I _knew_ about your magic, I've known for a while now!” Arthur yells. “You _and_ Morgana, and don't try to deny it, I'm neither blind nor stupid,” he adds before Merlin even has time to open his mouth. “At least she's smart enough not to publicly show it.”

 

Merlin bites his lip. So Arthur did know after all. He could've told Arthur long ago and Arthur wouldn't have been shocked and wouldn't have run away. He could've trusted Arthur sooner. He _should_ have trusted Arthur sooner.

 

“I didn't... I couldn't tell you,” Arthur says, quieter now, but shakier. “I'd be admitting it to someone. To myself. It would've been my duty to report you. This way, I— I pretended not to know because it was easier,” he admits and Merlin admires the honesty, wishes he could've been as honest when he had the chance.

 

“The dragon is alive,” Merlin whispers, because this is something Arthur needs to know and Merlin may never have the chance to say it. And because it's honest, it's what little honesty he can offer now. It's too little too late, he knows, but it's better than nothing.

 

“What?” Arthur asks, sounding confused. Merlin looks up at him, but finds that his vision is blurry; he darts his tongue out to lick at his lips and they're wet, salty, and he realizes he's crying, but he has no idea how that happened. He bows his head and hides his face – Arthur's never been comfortable with tears.

 

“You didn't kill him. I sent him away. I... Balinor was—“ Merlin starts, trying to control his voice. He's not sure it's working.

 

“Your father, I know,” Arthur cuts him off. “I'm not deaf either. I also think we've established I'm not stupid.”

 

“So why didn't you say something?” Merlin snaps. “Why didn't you tell me? If you already knew all of this, why hide it from _me_? I wouldn't have told anyone!” Arthur flinches and takes a step back. Merlin ducks his head again, he can't be angry at Arthur, not when he's the one who screwed up. But it's easier to yell at Arthur than to admit that he's actually mad at himself. Huh, maybe he does understand why Arthur never said anything.

 

This is not how Merlin wanted this to go down.

 

“Now what do we do?” he asks, surprised at how small it is, how little it sounds like the greatest sorcerer that has ever lived, the last of the Dragonlords. How inconsequential those titles are now. Arthur crouches in front of him and lifts his chin up, makes him look into his eyes. For a moment Merlin thinks about apologizing, but the truth is he's not sorry for what he did, he's just sorry he had to do it. He's sorry he put Arthur in this position, but he's not sorry he saved his life. He's not sorry he's free. It's all very complicated, and Merlin doesn't quite get it himself so he decides not to try to explain to Arthur. His head is starting to hurt.

 

Arthur's fingers are trembling infinitesimally and his breaths are uneven. The knuckles of his right hand are red and swollen, skin broken in a few places. Merlin whispers a spell before he even knows he's doing it and the cuts disappear. Arthur doesn't even blink.

 

For a moment, Merlin wonders what it would be like to sit up, to lean closer, to press his lips to Arthur's. He wants to know if Arthur's kiss would be as telling as Morgana's, if his lips would be as soft, if he would be gentle or firm. He wants to try to _show_ Arthur the things he can't quite put into words, the way Morgana showed him, but he's not sure he can. He's not sure he's allowed to. In the end, he just stares into Arthur's eyes. There's a decision there, about Merlin's fate certainly, but Merlin doesn't care about that. He cares about the pain (some residual from Uther's death surely, but most caused by Merlin, by his lies and wrong decisions), the anger (which Merlin understands because he's angry as well), the insecurity (which Merlin has found never leaves Arthur, no matter how cocky and self-assured he tries to appear).

 

Arthur's fingers leave his chin and Merlin snaps out of his haze; he moves away as much as he can without tumbling onto his back because he's not sure he won't seek out more of Arthur's touch. Arthur cringes and looks away; Merlin is not sure why. When he opens his mouth to ask, Arthur stands up abruptly and his face becomes closed off and distant. Merlin knows that look, he's seen it plenty a time, but it was always meant for the people Arthur didn't care about, for the meetings with royals he didn't like, for official business Uther sent him to do.

 

“You must understand,” Arthur says, cold, controlled, distant, “this is a delicate matter and my rule is still not stable enough for this huge of a change. My father's policy is still strong, he has supporters everywhere. There's nothing I can do.”

 

It's a logical argument, rational thought (one that hasn't occurred to Merlin, and that just goes to show how much Arthur's grown since Merlin first met him) that convinces Merlin more than anything that Arthur's made a difficult choice he doesn't like, that he's seriously distressed, that he's scared of what his decision brings with it – logic is Arthur's defensive mechanism, it's his safe haven when he thinks emotions might overwhelm him. Guilt washes over him as he watches Arthur's blank eyes and wonders just how long it will take for Arthur to recover from this.

 

“You won't die for this, Merlin,” Arthur says and Merlin flinches – it hasn't crossed his mind in a while that magic would actually cost him his life, “but for as long as my father's laws are implemented, you are banished from Camelot. You'll leave tonight,” Arthur throws over his shoulder as he walks out, leaving the door behind him open.

 

Merlin stares at it for a long time, Arthur's sentence echoing in his mind; it's not something he never thought would happen, but he certainly didn't hope for it. Camelot has become his home, he has friends here, people he cares about. He doesn't want to leave. Yet, somehow, his thoughts drift to Arthur again – what will Arthur do when he leaves, who will serve him then, will they know how he likes his food arranged on the tray, will they remember to come back after they're dismissed when Arthur's unwell. It's bizarre and a little disconcerting how much he cares about Arthur, even at a time like this, but he can't stop. He wonders how long it will take for Arthur to get over this, to move on, to forget him.

 

*

 

Lancelot and Gwaine drag him out of the cell – he's still too shocked, still in denial that he is no longer welcome in a place that is his home, that he will probably never see Arthur again, to move on his own. They help him pack and wait for him to say goodbye to Gaius before they walk him out of the castle. They hardly say anything and Merlin is grateful for that; he doesn't feel like talking to anyone.

 

As they walk out, Merlin looks up. The light coming through Arthur's window is flickering, but he's too far away to see if Arthur is there. He must be, he always is when there's something wrong, something that bothers him. Merlin hopes he's there, because this is his last chance to say goodbye. There are so many things he wants to tell Arthur now, so many things he thinks Arthur should know, and he doesn't know how to do it. He ends up just writing _Goodbye, prat_ on the window where he suspects Arthur is; he knows Arthur will understand.

 

*

 

He rides north. He's not sure if he does it because that's where Ealdor, the place that was once his home before Camelot, is, or because he knows that's where Arthur's conquests will take him first.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed it ^^


End file.
